Category: Mexico



Preferences in numbered ambiguities
Only for some not all
Centuries of bloated, pompous ramblings –
Speak through a well hearted head!
Were we always free to worship God, firearms and poisonous wealth
Yes, in quiet corners, behind shut doors
Don’t quote me on that –
this press is not free and that relic is illegible
Idolaters of weaponry seated at gilded tables –
roles are reversed
Well-manicured turncoats covet your guilty steal –
Listen … they are laughing
Shall they search and seize your neighbor’s home –
Help is a fool’s dream
Nationless human beings –
take one million gasps, humbly head south to disputed land 

The Torreon Way


Prepared or not … you’re going – pobrecita

In nightgown or feisty girl jeans

Sandals born of ancient hands and eyes –  esta bien

Pebble infested city attack sandal/feet spaces!

Leap a plethora of ice cream painted buses – abuelita and me

El Centro offers respite, chorizo and bolillo pleas – yes, puppy dog beg 

More Torreon grime and pebbles produce Americana limps

Goodbye guilty leather upon innocent feet

Young girl toes wish to kiss Spanish tile dreams

Finish line – sacred courtyard with a cosmic lemon breeze

 


 

The scents of Chicana poverty linger

Even after decades of enough

Welfare office tears and grime

Still on the soles of old shoes

Air is thick with ethnic sweat and worry

Leave little ones or buy a fake you

Cajeta, popcorn and lemonade

Solely for barrio kids with 25 cents

Youthful want is still palpable

Little Chica world void of any cool respite

Rife in dust from dilapidated homes

And slick in crime-moistened streets

Invading my Gringa middle-class psyche

Cloaking my proud camouflaged Morenita skin

 

 


The letter C is crying out

Mr. C is bored with Gringo-speak

Demands to be Chicano-ized

So Carmelita commences the commands

Consume your comida cravings

Ceviche de concha con camaron

Carne Asada tortas on the right

Carnitas con chile verde on the left

Wash it down with damn cold Cerveza

Then Cha-Cha with Carla until you drop

Mr. C died from a Chicano coronary

 

 

La Raza Dream


They were born beneath your polished shoes

Working hard to keep your world clean and new

Love your home and children above the stars

Names apply only within their blessed hovels

Oppressed is how they love without guarantees

Praying fervently to an earless and tired deity

Beseeching the kind holy virgin in the end

That El Jefe or La Migra don’t abruptly end La Raza dream


Zapata, Rivera, Kahlo and Villa

All wrong and right for exquisite people

All shout dirty drunken songs of freedom

Vulgar, opinionated and grotesquely armed

Multicolored tragedy forges troubling resistance

Eat your imperfect tortillas, nopalitos and arroz

Tequila for courage and to wash over all scars

There are no shameful acts to pardon

Dear beloved and disgraceful creatures

Your tortured hearts feed a flawed desert garden